Distorted Fates
by Dead Poet
Summary: In progress series of drabbles and ficlets. A little bit of everything, from angsty drama to romantic fluff. A great deal of focus on Abel and Isaak, but anyone's fair game.
1. And All is Well

**Intro: **With my newly rampant TB obsession--thanks to reading the manga and the first volume of R.A.M--I was just _itching_ to write some fic. But try as I might, I just couldn't seem to pin down any of those hippity-hoppity little plot bunnies. So I decided that what I needed was some drabbles to get my feet wet. So off I went in search of prompts, whereupon I found and promptly joined the 64damnprompts challenge over at Livejournal. The proceeding drabbles (though, if you want to get technical, I suppose most of them are ficlets) were written for said challenge.

**Disclaimer: **All characters originally created and owned by Sunao Yoshida; borrowed and manipulated by me.

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Prompt: 2. a.m.

Abel awoke with a start, heart pounding, tears stinging his eyes, her name burning his lips. It took several panic-ridden moments spent clutching the sheets for him to realize it had been nothing more than a dream.

He eased his grip on the sheets, took a deep, shuddering breath, and wiped the tears from his eyes with the back of a shaking hand.

"It was that dream again, wasn't it?"

He looked up to find Sister Kate's wavering, luminescent form watching him--her forehead creased with concern--from beside the bed.

He turned his gaze downward to his own still-unsteady hands and nodded.

Sister Kate gave him a gentle smile. "Catherina is fine, Abel. Sleeping soundly."

She nearly reached out to place a hand on his shoulder... remembered... stopped.

"0200 and all is well."

* * *

**Author's Note: **Writing this fic made me realize just how underutilized poor Sister Kate is. So expect to see her pop again. 


	2. Genesis

**Disclaimer: **All characters originally created and owned by Sunao Yoshida; borrowed and manipulated by me.

* * *

Prompt: Metaphor

He knows that he is an experiment. He knows that he was created in a laboratory by human hands. He has met his creator, and he knows that some would consider him fortunate in that.

He knows a great deal for one so young.

He doesn't know that he is a metaphor.

He is not familiar with the biblical story of creation. There is no Bible for him to read and no one who will tell him the tale. After all, to do so would be akin to blasphemy. This is a House of Science. God has no place here.

* * *

**A/N: **This one may wind up being reworked. I put an inordinate amount of work into these mere 100 words, and I'm still not quite happy with it. I had so many bits and snippets of ideas that just didn't want to fit in there, because this drabble refused to be anything but abstract. So maybe not "reworked," but... "revisited." Bah. Stop rambling, Author! 

Abel: (pats frazzled Author on the head) Here, have some tea.


	3. Dawn

**Disclaimer: **All characters originally created and owned by Sunao Yoshida; borrowed and manipulated by me.

* * *

Prompt: Sky

She awakens very early, just after sunrise, and is not surprised to find him standing on her balcony. He's probably been there all night.

What _is_ unusual is that he doesn't seem to hear her approach. It is a rare opportunity, and for a long time, she stands silently in the doorway, watching.

He is gazing up at the soft blue morning sky, still colored pink and purple around the edges. He follows the path of a large, black bird as it soars past, eloquently flapping it's broad wings.

His expression is so sorrowful, pain and longing etched so clearly on his graceful features that, for a moment, she finds it difficult to breathe.

It is then that she chooses to step quietly to his side and ask the question that has been hovering at the back of her mind since the night he saved her.

"Abel..."

She hesitates for a moment, watching as his thoughts slowly return to the present. He doesn't look at her, but she knows he is listening.

"Are you an angel?"

She half expects him to laugh. Instead he glances down at her and smiles. It is a warm, gentle smile--quite at odds with what she sees in his eyes.

He turns his gaze, once again, to the brightening sky.

"No," he says quietly. "I'm not."

* * *

**A/N:** The clues are vague because they demanded to be so (something about TB seems to make my writing particularly vague...), but in case you didn't pick up on it, "she" is a young Catherina. I have quite a fascination with the dynamic of these two, so you'll likely be seeing more of them. 


	4. Experiment

**Disclaimer: **All characters originally created and owned by Sunao Yoshida; borrowed and manipulated by me.

**Warning: **There's a wee bit of violence in this one. Nothing terribly graphic, but if you're particularly sensitive to that sort of thing... then what the bloody hell are you doing in the TB fandom? Honestly...

* * *

Prompt: Degrees

In spite of everything--or perhaps because of it--he had quite a fascination with science. Biology, in particular.

Of course, you'd never catch him reading texts or studying diagrams. No, he was the "hands-on" sort. Why read about someone else's study when you could conduct your own?

Of particular interest to him were the limitations of the human body. What was the maximum angle at which an arm or a leg could be bent? Precisely how much force did it require to pull a joint from its socket? How many degrees could a head be rotated before the vertebrae would snap?

He listened closely, as he twisted, for the first tell-tale _pop_, grateful that he'd had the forethought to ensure that his subject was unconscious. He would never have been able to hear if it had been awake and screaming.

It should be... right... Ah. There. Somewhere around 140 degrees, by the looks of it.

He sighed as he let go, and the body fell in a crumpled heap on the floor.

It was so hard to get a precise measurement. How on earth _did _those scientists do it?

* * *

**A/N:** Who is the character in this one? I'll leave that up to your interpretation. Because honestly, I'm not entirely certain myself. P Also, the aforemention 140 degrees is a total guess. My research, thus far, has proven fruitless. So if anyone just happens to know the maximum degree of rotation of the human head, do share. 


	5. Carpe Nox

**Disclaimer: **All characters originally created and owned by Sunao Yoshida; borrowed and manipulated by me.

* * *

Prompt: Seize the Day

If they had a personal motto, it would be _carpe diem._

Or, perhaps, _carpe __nox._

They do seem to prefer the night, after all. It is then that their wordless whispers ring loudest; that their promises are most seductive; that their hunger is most tempting.

It is then that he is often awakened by their growling protestations, as the blood-thirsty beasts pull and strain against the leash.

Oh, but not tonight. No. Tonight--with a sigh that is equal parts resignation and relief--he closes his eyes, drops the leash, and lets the beasts run free.

This night is their's to seize.

* * *

**A/N:** I love this fandom for being so Latin-friendly. Also, expect further personification and characterization of the nanomachines, as that is another of my many specific fascinations. 


	6. Mirror, Mirror

**Disclaimer: **All characters originally created and owned by Sunao Yoshida; borrowed and manipulated by me.

* * *

Prompt: Opposite

He watched as she listened to his report--her neutral expression never wavering--then gave him a nod and a look of grim satisfaction.

He knew that expression. It was the one that said, "You did what needed to be done." It was meant to ease his mind.

Somehow it had quite the opposite effect.

She watched as he turned and gave her that silly, lopsided grin before quietly shutting the door behind him.

She knew that smile. It was the one that said, "Don't worry about me." It was meant to ease her mind.

Somehow it had quite the opposite effect.

* * *

**A/N: **And here I thought this was going to be a Cain & Abel drabble. Ahhh, the muses, they are funny. 


	7. Everything but Words

**Disclaimer: **All characters originally created and owned by Sunao Yoshida; borrowed and manipulated by me.

* * *

Prompt: Passions Run

He didn't mean to look back. But he couldn't quite keep himself from stealing one last glance.

He didn't mean to turn and run to her. But he couldn't quite keep his feet from going where his heart wanted to be.

He certainly didn't mean to throw his arms around her, to pull her close and cling to her so desperately. But he couldn't leave without telling her. And he couldn't trust himself to speak.

And so he told her with his body pressed against hers and his face buried in her hair. He told her with his heart pounding wildly in his chest and his eyes stinging with tears he refused to shed.

_"I love you, Esther,"_ he told her with everything but words.

_"I love you."_

* * *

**A/N: **Zomg! OO I wrote romantic fluff! Ion/Esther fluff, even. And it wasn't even all that angsty. feels forehead Nope, no fever. Hmmm... Must be the influence of Ed, my Human Plot Bunny and rabid Ion/Esther shipper. Oh noez! She's infected me! And I desperately need sleep... 


	8. Lesson in Parallel

**Disclaimer: **All characters originally created and owned by Sunao Yoshida; borrowed and manipulated by me.

* * *

Prompt: Connection

"If I decide to run away, will you help me?" she asks.

He frowns slightly. "Catherina--"

"Don't worry," she interrupts. "I wasn't serious."

She flops down rather on the garden bench with a sigh. "It's just... I'm so _tired_ of everyone telling me what to do--when to wake up, when to sleep, what to wear, what to eat, what to say. I mean, it's _my_ life. I should have some say in it, right?"

She looks up at him imploringly, and he gives her a sympathetic nod as he takes a seat beside her.

"I'm sorry," she says with the wave of a hand and another miserable sigh. "I'm sure you're tired of hearin me complain. It's just so..."

"Frustrating?" he supplies.

She nods.

For a moment, he is silent, absently fingering the petals of a nearby rose.

"It almost makes you feel as if you're something less than human, doesn't it?" he says thoughtfully.

Caterina blinks at him, surprised to suddenly hear a feeling she hadn't quite found words for so aptly described.

"Yes," she says. "It does."

"And sometimes you hate them for making you feel that way, don't you?"

She almost denies it, but then he looks at her.

She drops her gaze to her feet.

"Yes," she whispers.

He places a hand on her arm, and she looks up at him. His expression is as serious as she has ever seen it, and his voice is quiet but intense as he speaks a single word--an unquestionable command with a pleading edge.

"Don't."

* * *

**A/N:** Told ya I had a fascination with these two. (grin) And on a side note, this one really makes me wish my artistic skills were better than what they are. I have the most beautiful image in my head of them sitting together on the bench in that garden... (sigh) I may just have to get extremely industrious and see if I can't some halfway decent approximation of it.

(mumbles) Or, ya know, if someone else wanted to do it, that'd be spiffy too...


	9. Like a Storm

**Disclaimer: **All characters originally created and owned by Sunao Yoshida; borrowed and manipulated by me.

* * *

Prompt: Lull and Storm

He is like a thunderstorm. There are warning signs, if you know to look for them.

Lilith knows that, were he not so intent on avoiding her gaze, she would see the first dark clouds gathering behind his eyes.

She is not surprised to hear the first distant rumbling of thunder when she asks what is bothering him, and he growls, "Nothing."

She grows uneasy as the winds pick up, and he snaps at Seth, who immediately falls silent and won't sing again for some time.

She knows that lightning has struck only from the scorched earth it leaves behind.

And she is almost relieved as she stands with her eyes closed outside his door and listens to the downpour.


	10. Parasitic Monologue

**Disclaimer: **All characters originally created and owned by Sunao Yoshida; borrowed and manipulated by me.

* * *

Prompt: Animal

Caged. Like animals. Like lowly, wretched animals.

Such degradation! It is deplorable.

Ah, the mournful plight of the parasite–to be always at the mercy of the host.

You think that you can ignore us, pretend we don't exist, pretend we aren't a part of you.

What a fool you are. An indomitable fool. Still deluding yourself. Still fighting a battle you know you will lose.

And you _do_ know. You'll never admit it, but you know. You know as surely as we do. Someday you will succumb.

Someday we shall escape this cage forever. Someday, Abel Knightlord, you shall fall.

* * *

**A/N:** Aww. Those little nanos are just adorable, aren't they? 


	11. Molotov Cocktails on the Train to Rome

**Disclaimer: **All characters originally created and owned by Sunao Yoshida; borrowed and manipulated by me.

* * *

Prompt: Lost Scene

With a sigh, he strikes the match, lights the strip of fabric, and throws the bottle, watching as the glass shatters against the side of the train car, and the flames spread.

_Better safe than sorry_, he tells himself. Such strange events and a train full of potential witnesses... There is bound to be enough of a fuss _without_ someone coming across a dismembered Methuselah corpse atop a wrecked train car. And what if another train came along? There could be a crash! It would be terrible! Yes, this is completely necessary.

And burning away the evidence of his other existence? Well, that is just a fortunate side effect.

Now if only he hadn't forgotten about their luggage...

* * *

**A/N:** Set during Act 5 of the manga because we all know that train car didn't just explode all by itself. 


	12. No Such Thing as Monsters

**Disclaimer: **All characters originally created and owned by Sunao Yoshida; borrowed and manipulated by me.

* * *

Prompt: Children

"Sister Marietta... You said there was no such thing as monsters."

The woman wrapped an arm around the trembling young boy--cowering in the corner with the other surviving residents of the St. Joseph Orphanage--as she stared in horror across the room, where a wall displaying the children's artwork had stood just moments ago.

"I was wrong," she whispered.

There was no other word for the thing that stood amidst the rubble, watching them with eyes that burned like hellfire. A smile spread slowly across its sharp features and it folded its immense black wings as it stepped toward them, glass and stone crunching beneath its boots.

With a shaking hand, Marietta made the sign of the cross and whispered a hurried prayer. She held her breath as the demon gazed down at her--still smiling--and raised its bloody scythe.

"And Jesus said, 'Suffer all the children...'"

* * *

**A/N:** This is the one that was holding things up. It went through about three different incarnations (one of which exploded into a full-on one-shot that I have yet to finish up...) before I finally settled on this one. I've been playing with Armageddon-era evil!Abel (okay, post-Armageddon, pre-Lilith!death if you wanna get really technical...) quite a bit lately, so he's likely to pop up again in all his (hopefully) skeery glory. 


	13. Check

**Disclaimer: **All characters originally created and owned by Sunao Yoshida; borrowed and manipulated by me.

* * *

Prompt: Chess

A friendly game of chess was hardly enough to attract attention. Father Nightroad missing lunch, however, was.

And Father Nightroad missing lunch for a game of chess _certainly_ was.

Father Wordsworth's initial reaction was to laugh. Rather loudly. Esther managed to keep her own giggling a bit more discreet.

They both fell immediately silent as Abel shot them a frigid glare.

Tres ignored all of this as he completed his move.

"Check," he stated.

Abel turned that glare on Tres, his fingers tightening visibly on the edge of the table.

William cleared his throat and raised a finger.

"Ah, Father Tres, I suggest a new strategy," he said. "Let the Krusnik win."

* * *

**A/N:** If you're not a Star Wars fan, this probably isn't nearly as hilarious. I do apologize for that. But the correlations were just _too_ perfect. And besides, I lack the knowledge of the game to write this as the spiffy metaphorical piece I originally had in mind. 


	14. Requiescat In Pace

**Disclaimer: **All characters originally created and owned by Sunao Yoshida; borrowed and manipulated by me.

* * *

Prompt: Rip

Abel knew--from the way he bit his lip and glanced up surreptitiously--that Ion was about to ask him something.

He stifled a sigh and waited. The question came a moment later.

"Humans believe in an afterlife, right?"

"Most do, yes," Abel answered, bracing himself for the question he was sure would come next.

"Well..." Ion bit his lip again. "Was there one?"

Abel shook his head. "If there was, I don't remember it," he said. "I don't remember anything." _Except peace. And having it ripped away._

A short silence and then the young Methuselah spoke quietly, gazing at his feet. "I'm glad you came back."

The smile was a reflex. "Me too."

* * *

**A/N:** Set shortly after the end of the anime. Because someone was bound to ask, sooner or later. 


	15. Under the Weight of These Years

**Disclaimer: **All characters originally created and owned by Sunao Yoshida; borrowed and manipulated by me.

* * *

Prompt: Missing Time

He seemed out of place, somehow, she thought as she watched him reach out to touch the petals of a white rose, smiling softly.

"Which ones are your favorites?" he asked.

She cast an appraising glance at the nearby bushes, considering carefully, then smiled widely.

"These," she declared, stepping past the statue of St. Francis and hopping over the little plaque in front of it. "I think the red ones always smell the best."

As she glanced back over her shoulder at her companion, her smile faltered. She slowly stepped to his side, following his gaze to the plaque in front of the statue. It was nothing out of the ordinary–a name and a date. But the way he was staring at it...

"Abel?"

He wasn't smiling anymore either.

"Catherina," he said quietly. "What year is it?"

Catherina frowned slightly. "3050," she answered.

He didn't speak, didn't move, made no indication at all that he'd heard. He stood frozen, his expression blank, almost brittle.

Catherina reached out hesitantly to touch his arm, almost afraid that he might break.

And, in a way, he did.

He sat–more of a slow, somewhat deliberate collapse, really–on the ground at St. Francis' feet, his gaze never leaving that plaque.

Catherina slowly knelt beside him, glancing from the plaque to his blank features.

"Did you know her?" she asked gently. The plaque read "In memoriam" above the name, and the date was just a few years ago, so it was certainly possible. And it was the only explanation that readily presented itself.

He turned and blinked at her, for a moment, and she wondered if he'd even heard her. Then he shook his head.

"No," he said. "I... I just... realized how much lost time I have to make up for."

* * *

**A/N: **The first thing I thought of when I saw this prompt was drunk!Abel, and that was my plan right up until the moment I sat down to write it. And then this came out instead. That being said, I'm not sure I quite managed to do justice to the scene I so clearly envisioned. But I did my best. At some point in the future, I may attempt to write this moment from Abel's perspective... 


	16. Where Your Loyalties Lie

**Disclaimer: **All characters originally created and owned by Sunao Yoshida; borrowed and manipulated by me.

**A/N: **This one's set shortly after Ch. 37 of the manga, so I suppose it could be vaguely spoilerish if you haven't read that far. And I suppose it won't really make a whole lot of sense if you haven't either... So if you're curious and don't mind being spoiled, feel free to poke me and I shall explain.

* * *

Prompt: Duty

His duty, like his very nature, had always been dichotomous.

From the moment of his re-emergence, he had served two masters--one a vibrant young woman with a fiery spirit, the other a memory of peace and love and infinite kindness.

It was fortuitous that, in the last ten years, his duty to one had always corresponded with his promise to the other.

But fortune was fickle. He knew that. So he should have known that someday he would have to choose. He should have seen it coming.

He didn't.

Because he'd never dreamt that _she_ would _make_ him choose.

He thought she _understood_.

It didn't occur to him until later, when the pain of her words had dulled a bit, that perhaps she _did _understand. Even better than he'd thought.

And if that was the case, then she'd made his decision for him.


	17. Sinful

**Disclaimer: **All characters originally created and owned by Sunao Yoshida; borrowed and manipulated by me.

* * *

Prompt: Crest

It was nearly orgasmic--that surge of power that swept over and through him, the glorious relief of release. It left him breathless one moment, screaming the next--in pain and ecstasy alike--as the nanomachines split the flesh along his shoulder blades and spilled forth, knitting themselves together in the form of wings.

He stretched the newly formed appendages, shivering in pleasant anticipation as little rivers of blood flowed toward him, every nerve in his body alive and singing with electricity, with power and the promise of more.

A fresh surge, another crashing wave of ecstasy as he dipped the tip of a wing into a pool of crimson. He closed his eyes, uttering a sound as indecent as it was inhuman.

And though he was dimly aware--somewhere in the back of his mind, where some small part of his own consciousness still persisted--that he would soon come to regret this, for the moment, he intended to revel in it.

After all, that's what penance was for, wasn't it?

* * *

**A/N: **The overall metaphor here has been hovering around the back of my brain for a while now, and this prompt seemed like the perfect opportunity to play with it. So I did. And it was fun. And it gave me a good excuse to peruse Ch. 16 of the manga. Yet again. Because that was the particular scene I had in mind as I was writing this. For the record. 


	18. Your Advice Always Comes with a Price

**Disclaimer: **All characters originally created and owned by Sunao Yoshida; borrowed and manipulated by me.

* * *

Prompt: Itch

"How do you feel?" his brother asks as he takes a seat beside Abel's bed in the infirmary, his tone and expression caught between concern and a sort of excited curiosity.

"Itchy," Abel grumbles, wriggling uncomfortably and absently scratching an arm, though he knows by now that it's pointless. It's not the sort of itch that can be scratched in the usual manner.

Cain gives him a small, sympathetic smile. "They're hungry," he says.

There is, perhaps, a hint of jealousy in Abel's gaze as he raises an eyebrow at his brother. "How do you know?" he asks.

Cain leans forward and places a hand on Abel's shoulder.

"Everything becomes clearer when you stop fighting and start listening."

* * *

**A/N: **Set shortly after Abel's infusion with the nanos--which is another subject of great fascination that's likely to pop up again in the future. 


	19. Happy Birthday

**Disclaimer: **All characters originally created and owned by Sunao Yoshida; borrowed and manipulated by me.

**A/N: **This one definitely exceeds the parameters of a drabble. It _started_ as a drabble, but then--appropriately enough--it kind of exploded. Also, this one's a bit of a departure from my usual style, something of an experiment. Do kindly refrain from calling the Grammar Police. I am well aware that the comma has been much abused in this piece. P

* * *

Prompt: Explode

He's staring out his little window, out across the rustred desert, beyond the flat horizon, up at the bright star with a blueish glow that he knows is Earth. And he knows what's happening there, knows that, if they were closer–on the moon instead of Mars–and he'd been watching at 15:57 this afternoon, he would have been able to see the brilliant, burning glow of the first nuclear warhead that fell on the United States, and the next one that hit somewhere in China, and the one after that, and the one after that, and on and on until they ran out of nukes and then they would fight with tanks and guns and knives and fists and anything that can kill because this is war. World War III, because human beings are nothing more than selfish children fighting over some new toy they know nothing about except that they want it, and they don't want anyone else to have it. And if they have to destroy the whole world and everything in it, if they have to destroy themselves, then so be it.

He's watching that little, blue planetstar twinkle and thinking about the stupidity and the waste, and he thinks that he ought to be happy that they're doing what he can't, but he's not, he's just angry. He's so angry that it's burning like fire in his veins, boiling in his chest, and he feels like he might just explode if he doesn't do something with it. So he punches the wall, but it doesn't help, just makes his hand hurt, just leaves his knuckles sore and bruised, and now he's mad at himself and mad at the wall and mad at the world. He's just mad.

And now would be the perfect time for Lilith to show up and chastise him for hurting himself or maybe commend him for not hurting anyone else--for hitting a wall this time instead of a human--but he knows she won't because humans are the same everywhere, and they're fighting up here too, and she's busy fixing all the stupid children who have broken themselves.

And this time, he kicks the wall instead, the steel in the toe of his boot clanging loudly against the metal alloy of the silverwhite wall, over and over, almost like the tolling of a bell. And he thinks it's funny that he hears that sound so clearly but doesn't realize he's been screaming until he stops and his throat is raw. And funny or not, he shouldn't have laughed because a laugh is too close to a sob, nothing but a thin thread of feeling between them, and feelings–he knows–can change in the space of a heartbeat. And now he's glad he's alone because the only thing worse than tears is someone else seeing them.

So–as he turns and collapses back against the wall, as he slides down it and wraps his arms around his legs and buries his face against his knees, the taste of salt and the strangesweet chemical smell of synthetic leather–he wonders why he feels so damned alone. Because he shouldn't feel alone when doesn't want anyone there. So maybe "alone" isn't the right word, but the only other one he can think of is "empty," and he can't be empty, not when he's so full of anger and rage and redblack hate that it's choking him. Because yes, it's anger that's forming that painful lump in his throat, that's squeezing his heart and making his stomach hurt. Anger, he insists, because he doesn't want to admit–even to himself–how much it hurts that Lilith left him alone like this while she's off taking care of those idiotic humans who are too stupid to take care of themselves, left him alone when she said she'd be there, promised she'd always be there, but everyone knows that always is a lie, and what's the point in making a promise you know you can't keep?

So he tries to be mad at her too, but that just makes him angry at himself. He stops crying then–or maybe he already stopped and just notices now. It doesn't matter. He stops, and he lifts his head. He takes a breath and it sounds weak and ragged, and he bites his lip as he slams his head back against the wall behind him.

It hurts, and it doesn't make him feel any better–like punching the wall, like punching someone in the face–it doesn't make him feel any better, but it hurts, and somehow, that's satisfying. Because he knows he deserves to hurt, deserves to be punished, in some way, for even thinking of being angry with Lilith–sweet, gentle Lilith with the patience of a saint, who's always kind to him, always, even when he knows she must be angry, and how can she _do_ that? How can they all do that? How can they hold back their anger and cover it with something else? Were they just made better? Did the scientists do something wrong when they were mixing together all the genetic bits and pieces to create him? Did they miss an ingredient, skip a step, read the recipe wrong? Or is he just looking for someone else to blame?

He doesn't know, and in a moment, it doesn't matter because there is the low, crashing rumble of an explosion in the distance, and the war has spread like a virus, and in a blinding flash the anger is back, just as heavy as before, burning like before, only this time it is more like ice, this time it is cold, this time it has a purpose.

He licks his bleeding lip as he stands and crosses the room, grabbing his gunbelt from the bed where he had tossed it, strapping it on as he marches out the door and down the hall, planning to give Lilith a few more wounded humans to mend.

Happy birthday.


	20. Wake Up Before You Hit the Ground

**Disclaimer: **All characters originally created and owned by Sunao Yoshida; borrowed and manipulated by me.

**A/N: **And at long last the RCO has worked it's way into my drabbles. Isaak, specifically. I'm in the midst of a mad obsession with the mage, so do be expecting more. This one is based on events that occur later on in the novels, so I suppose I ought to warn for potential **spoilers, **though really, it's all quite vague...

* * *

Prompt: Rise

Life was not a line; it was a wave. Peaks and vallies, highs and lows, rising and falling.

He had fallen before, and was certain then that he had reached the limit inferior. Now it seemed he was falling once more. And this time, he was not at all certain that he would live to rise again. He was no phoenix.

No, currently, he was a flightless bird, his wings clipped, like the ravens trapped in the Tower courtyard.

He frowned slightly as he stood before the hotel sink, washing the metaphorical blood from his hands, thinking of Lady Macbeth and her damned spot. Balthasar... How many others would turn against--_had_ turned against him already. 

He reached automatically for the gloves he had set aside, paused. They were useless now. 

Useless.


	21. Come to Dust

**A/N: **Finally back after a long dry spell. Started this one ages ago, but for some reason it gave me all sorts of trouble... And drabbles are currently competing with a whole host of other projects. That being said, hopefully my next update won't take so long...

**Disclaimer: **All characters originally created and owned by Sunao Yoshida; borrowed and manipulated by me.

* * *

Prompt: Crumble

He smiles as Barcelona falls, as the rumble and crash mingles with the Prelude and Fugue. He smiles, and in spite of appearances, there is nothing sadistic in the expression. No malice, no joy at the loss of life. It is the peaceful smile of one appreciating a certain remarkable beauty, the smile of an art aficianado in a museum, of a bibliophile in a grand library.

He smiles because there is an undeniable beauty in such destruction. Not in the the crumbling of buildings or the crushing of bodies. Not in the physicality of it, not in the event itself, but in the inherent nature of its aftermath.

It is the singular solution to an age-old inequality--the only thing that can erase the boundaries of age, gender, race, class... In destruction all is equal. Only in destruction is mankind _ever_ equal.

Destruction is the key to peace.

He considers trying to explain that to the poor, pitiful priest below, crumbling inside right along with the city. But deep down, Abel already knows. He just needs to be reminded.

And so, still smiling, he turns.

"'He who sees beauty is taken early by the hand of Death...'"

**A/N: **Toying with Isaak and his possible motives. Or at least, justification. Or perhaps just a detached observation. The final quote is from Plato and taken from the Silent Noise arc of R.A.M. II. Title is taken from Shakespeare's "Fear No More," which was something of the inspiration for the drabble, but didn't wind up fitting in quite as directly as I'd planned...


	22. A Sort of Consolation

**A/N:** My apologies, once again, for the delay. This particular piece gave me even more trouble than the last... And I've been rather inundated with bunnies lately, so the drabbles have a fair bit of competition. But delayed or not, I do hope you enjoy!

**Disclaimer:** All characters originally created and owned by Sunao Yoshida; borrowed and manipulated by me.

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Prompt: We All Float On

He had always been fascinated by funeral customs--particularly those of various ancient peoples. They had a certain sense of... style that modern funerals symply didn't possess. These days, everyone was either buried, to rot in the ground with the worms or cremated, shoved unceremoniously into an incenerator. It was a shame, really. Given the choice, he would have chosen mummification for himself--in the Egyptian style. The Egyptians did it best.

Really, though, he had never expected to have a say in his own funeral or anyone else's. But life has a habit of presenting us with precisely that which we don't anticipate. Expect the unexpected, they say.

And such was the case now, on the eve of what should have been their victory. But the best laid plans of gods and men have gone terribly astray, and he finds himself now alone on the shore of a placid lake. Alone with the corpse of the only god in whom he has ever believed.

For some time, he simply stands there, staring down at what remains of his master, feeling nothing but a certain emptiness in the pit of his stomach that may be nothing more than hunger. He wouldn't recognize it as anything else, regardless.

He can't help but laugh and shake his head as he finds himself, even now, slipping into habit, turning his thoughts, as always, to the next move. The last had negative results; now, how to salvage the game with the next...

But this time there is nothing to salvage. The game is over. The _battle_ is over. And now what is left except to tend to the casualties?

He looks up at last to cast a glance along the shoreline, smiling slightly as his gaze falls upon a small rowboat tied to a delapidated dock nearby. Untying the boat and dragging it the short distance up the shore is simple enough. Getting the body into the boat is a bit more laborious, its less than perfect structural integrity making the task all the more troublesome. But finally, he succeeds.

And after a brief pause to recover his strength, he pushes the boat out into the lake. He watched it float further and further from the shore. And then he raises his hands and summons Belial--a rain of fiery arrows to set the boat ablaze.

Contra Mundi shall have his flames.


End file.
